Overrealmed
by shnuck
Summary: Super I, superhero, is sent on a mission by a mysterious entity across dimensions. He must adventure to universe after universe and ensure certain events go a certain way, with the fate of reality itself in jeopardy. Along the way he'll meet loads of familiar characters and see tons of amazing locales! The journey will change Super I forever- and the stakes will never be higher.
1. Chapter 1

OVERREALMED

Part 1

Prologue

The wind flew past my ears, filling them with a high-pitched whistle. I felt the familiar strain that came with flying at those speeds; the Herofix in my blood was pumping uncomfortably fast. Emergency response from the Abnormals was always a stretch, just due to the fact that there were so few of us and so much sudden crime— Hourglass was working on a solution, but until then, getting the team anywhere took more time than I'd like. And this was coming from the guy who could fly. I couldn't imagine how somebody grounded like Commando S.A.M. felt.

I'd been pushing myself for about half an hour. The usual headache from concentration began, but I ignored it. I'd arrived. That didn't matter anymore.

"There" being the Tartarus National Bank, where there'd been a hostage situation taking place for the last 45 minutes, which the police, and by extension the Abnormals, became aware of a little while after that when a teller managed to activate a silent alarm. The downtown, where the bank was, was famed for being the center for success and wealth in the Supernation. It was completely gated, and around it were massive slums, full of the lower class, desperately trying to get close to the strong economy inside. I guess somebody decided to take a more direct route to the wealth within.

I flew over the gates, the guards recognizing me and keeping their guns holstered. I'd never liked the way the city was set up, but I understood that there's a lot more to the situation than I'm giving it credit for. Superpowers have made policing more complicated, and the city's freelancers seemed mostly on the self-interested-vigilante side. Still, though. I gave my head a shake for getting distracted and refocused on the mission.

I spotted the bank easily thanks of the line of squad cars parked in front of it, officers idling around behind the wall of vehicles. I managed to mostly slow in the air, but it still took me a couple of steps to stop when I landed. Assistant Commissioner Williams turned to me, clearly frustrated. Next to him stood a blonde-haired man about my age hunched over a disposable cell phone, taking notes franticly, but talking slowly and calmly.

"Super I," he grumbled, putting out a cigarette on the hood of his squad car.

"Assistant Commissioner Williams," I replied in my slightly-deeper-and-more-confident-than-normal-because-I'm-a-superhero voice. "We heard about the situation over the scanners. Could you explain with a little more detail?"

"There's a team of four Gammas and one Beta inside, all armed with UHSS weaponry," he explained. With his back turned to the bank, he pointed to a window high up in the bank. "They've got a man at the window, looking at everythin' we're doing. Way to go with the whole flying-100%-in-view, by the way. The other three, including the Beta, are in some room with the 30 hostages, includin' both employees and patrons. That's where the demands are being made from."

I swore to myself. Of course they had a man watching. Now any move I decided to make will immediately be relayed to the men below. On the outside, I had to stay heroic, though, so I simply shrugged it off.

Williams continued. "Those demands being one billion dollars and that the walls be torn down. Now, the Gammas' powers're worthless, far as our intel says, but the Beta says he can shoot acid from his hands, so that's somethin' to watch out for." He hiked up his pants. "Most of the building is evacuated, and all the hostages are on the ground floor, with the criminals. We've got a SPWAT team in that building over there—" he said, subtly pointing in the direction of the adjacent office complex, "—but they've said that they'll kill a hostage if they see anybody enter the building."

"Alright," I said, mind racing through the options. I tilted my head towards the man with the phone. "And I'm guessing the couple on the phone can't decide who should hang up first?"

He grinned. "The kid's got a talent for keeping them talkin'. He's alright by me. The guy on the other end is the Beta I was telling you about. The brains of the operation. Me and him had a little talk over the megaphone, before we got that burner. He's a real—"

Suddenly, the negotiator turned to me. "They'd like to speak with you."

I was absolutely and completely terrified of what could go wrong there, but I didn't let one muscle on my face change. "Alright," I repeated, moving towards him. "Are there any rules to this, or…?"

"I've been stalling, waiting for them to get impatient and give something away," he explained. "He seemed pretty excited a big-name superhero like you is here, so… just try and get something we can use." He smiles nervously.

I took the phone, gave a pointed look to the window Williams said they were watching from, and put an extra bit of intimidation into my voice.

"What?" I growled.

"Super I…" he said back, voice smooth and dangerous. "Superhero extraordinaire. 'Hero of the people!' 'Bane of the criminal scum!' Heh… I'm sure you'll understand why you must provide us with what we ask, as it's _us_ who are truly in the right here."

"I think somebody lied to you about me having a sense of humor." I shot back.

He laughed sarcastically. "Wow. Hilarious. You're hilarious. Also, avoiding a real response." He took his sweet time chuckling at that one. "You're a guy who goes around saving people for absolutely nothing. Not even recognition, with that little mask and cape of yours. But, Super I, I understand you better than any of those people pretend to. I know you like… well, like we've met. You're a man of conviction, with morals and rules. And I know exactly how you feel when you see the big electrified wall keeping the poor away from the corporations."

I'd trained myself not to react to anything anybody throws my way. Being indestructible makes not flinching in fights easy. But the criminals who can _really_ get a read on you? The social-minded sociopaths? They're a whole new kind of scary. Of course he was right about the disgust I felt when I looked at those gates and the guards behind them, and everything they stood for. I hated that this fight against crime had made me somebody inside the walls, somebody who flies over all the poverty and crime and inescapable situations out in those slums, somebody who doesn't walk the streets and doesn't try to understand. But I didn't flinch at his accuracy. I never flinch.

"Your silence is affirmation, 'hero,'" he said, a smugness creeping into his voice. "You want those walls down as much as me. All I want is for the corporations and the billionaires and the politicians to stop hoarding the money that should belong to us, the people."

"Oh, so that billion is going to the people, then?" I retorted.

There was a second of silence on the other side. "It would be too difficult to distribute."

"You're threatening lives to steal money," I said, anger creeping into my voice. "This isn't a social movement— it's an armed robbery. You think you're something new? There's hundreds who've done what you're doing now."

"I'm taking from those who _deserve_ it!" he snapped back. He didn't sound smug anymore. "You're one of them, aren't you? The greedy ones! Maybe you don't do this all for free…!"

" _I don't take sides_." I turned away from Williams and the negotiator. I didn't know why I was giving this piece of trash the time of day, but it just felt like the right thing to do. "If I start taking sides… well, I'm not that much different from you, then, aren't I? I side with the people you've got guns to the heads of, in that building. I'm with the innocents. I'm against the murderers."

"We won't murder anybody!" he shouted back. He quickly realized his mistake. "Unless we have to, that is. _Guhhhhh…_ just give us what we want, and we'll let the hostages go."

"You're not getting what you want," I told him as firmly as I could. "There's only one way out of this situation, and it's with your hands up walking out the door."

He didn't answer.

"Look…" I started. _Why am I still talking?_ I thought to myself. "You're right. I understand how you feel about the wall." Williams raised an eyebrow. I ignored him. "Now, you have to understand just how complicated powers like mine and yours make situations like these. They're the ultimate concealed weapon. Believe me when I say I've had talks with politicians and businessmen and all sorts of people who are convinced that the only way around such an unpredictable factor is guns and electric fences. We can find solutions, but not like this."

More silence.

"This was a mistake. But, if you and your friends step out right now and put your guns on the sidewalk, I will do everything in my power to make sure you're looked upon favorably in court."

"They listen to you?"

"Most people do when you're flying and wearing tights."

He chuckled, a little sadly. There was two more minutes of silence. The negotiator chewed his fingernails. Even Williams looked nervous, blasting through 4 cigarettes during the quiet. I wanted to do something, anything. Tap my foot. Pace. Fidget. Anything. But I don't flinch.

"I—" he started.

A loud crash echoed out of the cheap phone. The man on the other side suddenly sounded far away, shouting frantic orders.

I put my thumb over the receiver and turned to Williams. "Something's happening. I'm going in. If I don't come out with them in 5 minutes, or you hear gunshots, send your team in."

"You goin' in there could end lives," he argued, eyes glued to the building.

"Or it could save them," I countered, tossing the phone to the negotiator, who fumbled to catch it. "He's distracted. Something's going on in there. It's now or never."

He squinted up at the window. "Ya think he's stopped watching?" He asked, uncertain.

"Sure," I replied, just as uncertain. Then, with a running start, I took to the air.

I didn't go high off the ground, only about a meter up. I kept my body parallel to the street, my fists pointed forwards. The front window shattered around them like a brick hitting porcelain. A man with a balaclava and a large gun was turned, looking down the hall from the lobby. When he heard the glass break, he reared, unloading in my direction. Only three of his bullets landed, and they ricocheted off my skin into the floor and ceiling. I responded by driving into him, tearing the gun out of his hands and punching him in the gut. Holding him tight with both hands, I propelled us both through the ceiling— although it did a lot more damage to him than me. With one last punch to the nose for good measure, I threw the unconscious thug into an abandoned cubicle and dropped back to the first floor.

I heard the commotion down the hall. Assuming what Williams said was right, around the corner were two more Gammas and the Beta, armed, with 30 people who could get caught in the crossfire. They'd easily have somebody watching the door. I stopped in my tracks and thought of what the other Abnormals would do. Strike would super-speed and super-stealth his way in, slicing them up. Commando S.A.M. would just dive around the corner, blasting all three of their heads off before hitting the ground. Animal would've monkeyed his way around the building and smashed himself a back entrance, then smashed the abductors. Nothing like a twelve-foot gorilla-rhino-panther man to take your focus off the hostages. Waterfall could just turn the corner and talk them out of it, or if that didn't work, spray them into submission. Hourglass'd have some genius strategy involving Time Bubbles, lasers, and all sorts of gadgets and gizmos off of his armor. What was a poor, simple, flying, bulletproof, almost-monk, alien-mask-wearing lad to do?

I put my back to the wall and shuffled as close to the next room as I could, crouching behind one of those stupid little office plants at the corner. A quick peek made me realize that attention was very much not on me.

The hostages were in the middle of the large room, their hands behind their heads and on knees to the floor, all huddled together. The room itself was decorated like a second lobby, with more teller stations and a couple doors near the back leading to what looked like either private offices or conference rooms. The three robbers were all clad in identical masks to the man I put through the ceiling in the other room, holding powerful looking assault rifles, and looking extremely nervous.

"Where'd he go?!" shouted a shorter man in a deep green jacket, frantic eyes practically bulging out of his balaclava. I recognized his voice from the phone— he must be the Beta. He swivelled his gun around the room, pointing it in every direction.

"I dunno, he just disappeared!" another masked guy said, doing the same. Both guns looked to be using bullets, but the telltale microreactor on the side tells me that they use conductium propulsion. Which means even more power than usual.

"Devan, you're still watching the hostages, right?" the Beta asked, panic tingeing his orders.

"Huh?" said the man who turned out to be Devan, masked and armed like the others. He's looking around the room, weapon raised and spinning as well, completely oblivious to the panicked group huddled behind him. "Oh. Uh, sure."

Metaphorical gears spun in my head as I pieced together what happened. To confirm my suspicions, I leaned around the plant once again and started counting how many hostages there were. I'd reached about 13 when what looked like a receptionist spotted me.

"It's Super I!" she shouted, pointing to me hunched behind the potted plant. Not every entrance can be heroic, I guess.

I stepped out from behind the plant, flipping my cape out dramatically as I did so. I just hoped I could hero-bluff my way out of it.

"I gave you plenty of warning, criminals," I declared in a loud voice. All three of them have spun to face me, weapons raised. "Now we have to do this the hard way."

"Guess I got distracted," the leader said. "Cover me, boys,"

They fired. I let my reflectivity go as much as I could, so the energy from the bullets was absorbed into my indestructible frame, preventing a stray bullet from ricocheting out into the crowd. Speaking of whom, they began screaming. "SHUT UP!" the man on the right shouted back, gun swiveling to point at the loudest of them.

This was going very wrong, very fast.

I grabbed for the nearest thing, hurling it at the guy still shooting at me. It wasn't a perfect throw, but not many people can hold on to a heavy gun after being hit with a fire extinguisher. As he fumbled his firearm, I threw myself forward, flying the 20 feet between me and the guy aiming at hostages. I tackled him, pushing his gun's barrel into the air as he let loose a dozen rounds. We wrestled over the weapon, his grip being surprisingly tight. It loosened when I headbutt him in the nose. As I emptied the clip onto the ground and tossed the weapon aside, he stood, shaking his head and raising his fists in a boxer's stance.

"You really want to do this?" I asked. I really did feel bad about what was about to happen.

"Why the hell not?" Blood dripped through his nose and balaclava.

The fight ended quickly. He tried protecting his face, leaving me open to drill a fist into his stomach. He doubled over. I grabbed the back of his head and held it there as I kneed it repeatedly. He tried a swing at my leg to provide any kind of relief from the onslaught, but the bones in his hand snapped as if he were punching a concrete wall. Finally, he fell forward, and before he could stand back up, I kicked him hard in the side of the head. Not the most sporting thing I'd ever done, but I was in a hurry.

Waiting just one second to make sure he wasn't getting up, I turned to finish the guy on the other side. Just in time to see the pinless grenade leave his hand.

There were at least 31 people this grenade could kill. My body reacted before my brain could. I stepped back with the grenade, wrapping my body around it. I turned with it nestled in my gut, arms and legs collapsed around it. I managed to hit the ground completely surrounding the explosive. Then, it exploded. I didn't feel it, but I heard it, and out of the corner of my eye a piece of shrapnel flew out from underneath my arm and embedded itself in the wall opposite the hostages. As I stood, pieces of the frag fall to the ground.

The robber stood there, completely shocked. The hostages were finally silent.

"That," I growled, "was dangerous."

He pulled off the balaclava and threw his hands in the air. "I give up."

At that very moment, a team of SPWAT burst in, with their signature deep blue body armor and glowing white visors. They pointed their weapons at the danger zones in the room (props to whoever trained them), before taking the situation in and letting up a bit. I did the same.

The robbers' leader was nowhere to be seen, presumably either having ran up the stairs or up the elevator. The hostages were shaking. The combat was improvisational at best and could've resulted in any number of casualties. _Maybe if I tried sounding scary like S.A.M. instead of like some big goofy hall monitor these exchanges would work more in my favor_ , I thought to myself. _It's for the citizens_ , a different voice in my head maintained. I put the thoughts out of my head. Somebody as disciplined as me shouldn't have been getting distracted so much.

"We, uh… we heard shooting, Mr. Super I."

I couldn't help but grin. "Just Super I, thanks," I said, "and that is exactly what you were supposed to do, men. Good work. Now, is there a roof team or something…?

"They're rappelling down now, sir," the team leader replied, authority in his voice.

"I think I'll go join them," I decided. Addressing the room, I shouted, "Does anybody need medical attention?"

A lot of "no's" and "no thanks," a couple "wow's" and one "is that _the_ Super I?" One "thanks," another "what a tool." Clearly that member of the crowd was suffering from shock. I exited the room, then immediately left the ground. No sense antagonizing the superhumans who ended up with the power to digest mercury, or something along those lines, by taking flight in front of them. I flew through the first lobby, back out the door, and away from the building. Spinning back and relocating the window Williams had pointed out earlier, I used the extra room I gave myself to really pick up speed. From what I figured, the man watching from the window was shouting into his com unit that I had entered the building, but the guy on the other end had misplaced his com in all the chaos. He was still doing that when I crashed through the window at 80 km/h and put my knee into his mouth.

As I came to a stop in the air, I twisted to see him sprawled out on the floor, jaw broken and completely unconscious. I checked his pulse just to make sure I didn't overdo it (which I didn't), then moved into the hallway. It seemed like the rappelling teams hadn't made it here yet, as it was near the middle of the building. If the Beta were anywhere, it'd be here.

I was on edge. I wasn't in any real danger— since power puberty, I could count the number of times my life was truly in danger on one hand. But, although my count of the hostages was cut short, I was pretty sure there were less than 30. One (or possibly two, if my theory was correct) unaccounted for hostage(s), and another unaccounted-for, heavily-armed, acid-shooting hostage-taker. It was worrying, to say the least.

Suddenly, I heard a muffled sob in a room to my right. I stopped in my tracks. The hostage's crying practically confirmed my fears. Over the phone, this hostage taker showed at least a little regret for his actions, and I opened up to him more than I probably should have. Hopefully all that would keep him from doing anything rash. I really, really hoped that this would go better than the sloppiness downstairs.

"I know you're here," I shouted, projecting my voice as much as I could. It echoed through the abandoned office. A moment of silence followed. "Just me," I added, "nobody else. I want to talk, and I want to end this whole thing without anybody else getting hurt."

"Who got hurt?" he shouted back, a clear quiver in his voice.

Wait… was the _hostage-taker_ the one crying?

"Well, I did throw your door guard through the ceiling," I responded, more than a little sheepishly.

He laughed nervously. "Killer's an ass, anyways. Who names their kid Killer? And his 'amazing power' is he has these boils that— y'know what, never mind."

I was still standing awkwardly in the hall, but I couldn't help but laugh back. "I know a couple of guys who really got the short end of the Herofix stick, too."

"It is what it is," he shouted back, "but I guess that's not really saying a lot, coming from acid-hands and Mr. Indestructible, is it?"

"I guess not," I called out. Despite the small talk, every fiber of my concentration was on locating where the sound is coming from. I needed to make sure there wasn't a hostage with him, and if there was, to get them to safety. "Mind if we do this in person?"

"Why the heck not?" he replied. All menace and unsettling intellect was gone from his voice. "I'm in office 708."

I opened the door slowly and carefully. The desk in the center of the room had been melted into a bubbling pile of slag, smelling of brimstone and rot. The various pieces of memorabilia the owner of this office had laid strewn about. On one side of the room sat the Beta, wearing the same deep green jacket, balaclava discarded. His gun was lazily pointed across the room at a terrified middle-aged woman, with the missing balaclava stuffed in her mouth as a makeshift gag. They sat leaning against opposite walls of the room, her eyes wide and glued to the barrel of the gun, his looking out the window.

What caught me off guard was how young he was. He couldn't be older than 17, with ratty brown hair cresting in the middle of his forehead and wide, blue eyes. His hollow face was spotted with pimples and decorated with defeat.

My cape was already draped over me, it's black folds hiding my body beneath it. As subtly as I could, I rose barely a centimeter above the ground, and began to slowly float myself between him and the woman. Although it might seem impressive for on-the-fly thinking, Hourglass had made me practice this dozens of times at the Abnormals Citadel. I talked to keep him from noticing the subtle movement.

"What's your name, son?" I asked.

"Kevin," he replied, voice monotone and sullen. Abruptly, his head turned to face me, and I saw just how close he was to losing it.

"I'm going to prison, aren't I?" he said, voice breaking. His lip quivered. He really was a lot younger than I thought.

"It doesn't have to be that way," I said, mostly avoiding the question. I couldn't find it in me to lie to him. "Just drop the gun, we'll bring you downstairs, and we'll talk to the Assistant Commissioner and get this all figured out."

He smiled sadly. "That's not true and you know it," Kevin sighed. He looked me straight in the eyes, and even though I knew he couldn't see mine from behind the mask, they bore into me. "I'm smart. Everybody down in the slums says so. I could always come up with these plans to get away with stuff and they'd always work, so my dad's friends, they started letting me plan heists and stuff. Then dad died, and they said it was Jared down in the North End who did it. So I melted him. I kept doing stuff for them, even though I knew they were criminals. They told me that we were doing it to bad people, those greedy capitalists, so it was okay."

A tear rolled down his cheek. I was halfway to being between him and the woman. Keep him talking.

"Guess I'm not really that smart, am I? I fell for it. Made the plan that would net us 30 hostages, no more, no less, the real important ones, and make sure everybody else got out of our way, and keep the cops away until we were ready. Then get our pay and get out through the tunnels underneath here. I pulled the alarm. It was part of our plan." He paused. "You weren't. When Jake, the guy upstairs, when he told me you arrived, I was so _excited_. I'd always imagined what I'd say to you if we ever met. I think every kid in my neighborhood has. And here I am, in a position of power. I could threaten _the_ Super I. That turned around pretty quick."

He looked down at his gun dejectedly. Then, slowly, he looked up. I was between him and the hostage.

"I'm sorry, Kevin," I said, "but this is over. Hand over the gun."

"But you haven't even figured out where we got the weaponry," he protested, sounding more childlike than ever. "I haven't even shot acid at you. You haven't solved half the mystery."

"It's not about that," I replied. "We can do that later. The priority is saving lives. That includes yours."

He looked at me, at the line of police cars, then back at me.

"Heh… y'know, you actually look pretty intimidating with your cape folded over like that. No red, all black. And people say you're the dorkiest Abnormal."

"Kevin—" I started, but he cut me off.

"I'm sorry about what happened, but there isn't any going back for me." He gazed out the window one last time. It felt too real. Somebody his age shouldn't have to be that grown up. "I'm going to jail, and I think I'm okay with that." He looked into the eyes of the woman he'd held hostage for so long. "I'm sorry. I… I really am. I— I just—"

He burst into tears. I reached down, took the gun out of his hand, and disabled it in one smooth movement, like I've practiced so many times. Then I turned, took the gag off the woman, and motioned for her to go downstairs. She nodded hurriedly and does just that.

Then I turned back to face Kevin. His head was in his hands, bawling.

"They'll probably want to put something over your hands," I said, trying to prep him for what happens next.

"I know," he said. "I can handle myself." He looked up at me, and through the tears, he managed a half-smile. "Go stop some more Kevins, Super I."

I walked out of the building through the door instead of the window (or wall, for that matter), not wanting to cause any more property damage than I already had. Not like they couldn't afford it, but the more people thought of the Abnormals as "superheroes" instead of "menaces to society," the better.

A myriad of cameras and reporters surprised me at the bottom of the stairs, shouting all sorts of questions about why I wore a mask while fighting crime and if I had a thing for latex and what I thought about Crown Opus' newest policy, seeing as we'd been seen talking. They asked just about everything, so long as it had nothing to do with what just happened. I kindly asked where the Assistant Commissioner is, and when that didn't work, I simply floated above them, spotted Williams behind a no press line, on the phone, and flew over to him. I smiled at the pack of reporters waving their microphones above their heads, like lighters at some kind of alternate rock concert.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled into the phone. "I've gotta go now. It's Super I. Yeah, the Abnormal, Super I. Why, you know any others, dipshit?" He tapped the touchscreen and ended the call. The phone collapsed into sleep mode, now that it wasn't being used, and he slipped it into his pocket. "How'd it go?"

"No hostages down. Three people in need of medical attention on the bad guys' side, and Kevin isn't so much of a bad guy, so tell your boss to go easy on him," I recounted. "Oh," I added, just remembering, "and where'd our disappearing boy go?"

Williams gave me a surprised look. "How the heck did you know 'bout him?" he asked.

"Context clues," I replied, a little proudly. "More specifically, how they were acting when I walked in. I guessed some Alpha or high Beta who happened to go into finance had decided to bail. I tried counting to see if I was right, but I got distracted."

"You could darn well be a detective, champ," he said. "In fact, why don't ya? We could use somebody with your, erm, _talents_ on the force."

I grinned. "This isn't anything against you, but I can't work _for_ the government. Only _with_ you guys. Too much power and all that."

"Same with the rest of the boys in your club, eh?" Williams sighed. "Can't tell if I'm angry or jealous. Doesn't really matter." He put out his last cigarette, then climbed into a squad car with another officer. "'Till next time."

I was about to take off, when suddenly a voice cut through the crowd.

"Hello, Dean," it said nonchalantly. "Nice to make your acquaintance."

I flinched.

 _He knows who I am. This man knows who I am. What does he want? Blackmail? To kill me, like the rest of these villains?_

I spotted who spoke with ease. He was wearing a beige trench coat and a matching, short-brimmed fedora, with well-shone shoes and deep gray dress pants. A black necktie and white, collared undershirt were visible underneath the overcoat. In other word, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was dressed like something out of those weird, old movies from pre-superhistory. He could pass as an old-timey gangster, or some gritty, womanizing journalist, easy.

"Don't worry," he said, "I don't plan on telling anybody who you are. I understand it's importance to you."

I was completely alleviated. If my identity got out, anybody I ever associated with my whole life could be used as leverage against me. It was why I had a whole lot less friends then than when I first tied a bath towel around my neck— I didn't understand just how dangerous and evil humanity and superhumanity alike could be at the beginning. Something in the back of my head wondered why I trusted his word so easily, but it was gone as fast as it arrived.

"Who are you?" I asked. I was fixated on this man. The sounds of the crowd around us began to drown out. Something about him seemed different from anything I'd ever seen. Like you're looking at him, but you're missing something. You're not _really_ seeing him.

"My name, you'll learn later," he explained. "But not right now. There's more important matters at hand."

The minute he said it I knew it was true. This man in the trench coat was something else. The crowd was getting really quiet now.

"I just came to tell you to be prepared. I have a job for you— only you— in the future, that may well throw the existence of… well, existence in jeopardy. In every reality. But I believe you are the only person in any universe who can stop some very bad things happening on a multitude of different realities." He paused, looking me straight in the eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Seems a little dramatic, doesn't it?" I joked. Key word being joke. Every word he said was true. Not "I know it's true." It was the truth, regardless of whether or not I believed it, and I had no idea how I knew that.

I couldn't hear or see the crowd anymore. It was just me in my red-and-black cape and tights, talking to this 1920s-looking man, and he was looking at me with such recognition and knowledge that it didn't even feel like I had a mask on. I wasn't flying, but it felt like I was floating.

"This is the way events need to play out. Including this conversation. By the end of this journey, I hope you understand. Just know I will be coming back another time, bringing you to other worlds, some with heroes and technology like yours. Although I could be wrong. Your technology all seems so similar to… somebody like me." He gave an all-knowing look. It never seemed more fitting. "I cannot tell you the specifics of what you need to do there today, but when I revisit, I will. I cannot do this myself. Consider what I have said."

"I will," I said. Except did I say it? I didn't feel like I had a mouth anymore. Or was anymore. I hadn't had a sense of touch since power puberty, except now I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I wasn't there, I just knew that this man stood before me, the man in the trench coat, and he knew.

"Until later, Super I. And congratulations on a successful mission. I know what it means to you."

Suddenly, I was back. I was just standing there. My knees felt weak. Swaying and stumbling, I grabbed a nearby police officer by the shoulder.

"Did you see a man in a trench coat walk by here? In a fedora?"

He turned, looking a little annoyed, but then saw who I was and immediately snapped to attention. "No, sir, Mr. Super I. Could you, uh, describe his face for me?"

I thought, and I really thought, I thought back to the conversation I _just_ had with the man in the trench coat, but I couldn't remember what his face looked like.

"I, uh… I can't remember." I didn't even bother putting on the hero voice.

"Well," the officer said, "what color were the man's eyes?"

Did he have eyes? Did he have a face at all? I couldn't remember his face. I remember seeing a face, looking at a face, talking to a face, but I couldn't remember his face.

"N-never mind, officer," I stammered. I couldn't remember his face. I'd seen a lot of unbelievable, sanity-shaking things, from genetic-experiment monsters to physics-warping superhumans to dimension-hopping alien conquerors. But for some reason, not being able to picture the man in the trenchcoat's face was destroying me. I could feel myself losing touch with reality. I couldn't trust anything. What am I but a simple system of memories, and what was he? Something more? I didn't understand! What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? wHAT DID HIS FACE LOOK LI

"Mr. Super I, sir," said the cop, "if you don't mind me saying, I'd like to thank you."

I looked at him, intrigued. "What for?"

"Well, a lot of those people in there, they take what you do for granted," he explained. "About 8 years ago, you saved my niece from some 20 foot tall menace, who would take kids and do awful things to them. 'Mega-Shadow-Lord,' or something. Looking at you now, you must be, like, in your twenties. You must've been, what, 17 at the most when you did that? And, well, I just wanted to thank you, 'cause you've been doing this for so long, and you don't seem to get a lot of thanks for it, that's all. Heck, I became a cop 'cause of you, Mr. Super I, sir."

I smiled. "Just Super I, thanks," I said, "and it's people like you that inspire me to keep this up. Knowing there are people who want to make a positive change out there."

He beamed back. "That's real great to hear, Mr. S— I mean, Super I, sir."

"Say hi to your niece for me," I finished, and took to the air.

I knew why I did this. And this man in the trench coat, the man who's face I can't remember, he'd be back. He had a big job for me. I knew it was true; he showed me it was true. It was a lot of pressure.

But I know why I fight.

And I never flinch.


	2. Chapter 2

OVERREALMED

Part 2

The First Jump

 _Tomorrow, I'd save reality. Today_ , I thought to myself, _I think I'll meditate._

It'd been about a week since the hostage situation at the bank, and, more importantly, my meeting with the man in the trenchcoat. I'd had some time to really reflect on our encounter, and it'd just made me even more unsettled. He appeared, knowing my secret identity, telling me that I alone needed to save the multiple-universes (which is quite a revelation in itself, mind you), then disappeared just as fast. Anytime he said something it was true. Not in a _I-believe-this_ way, but in a _this-is-objectively-true_ way. I didn't for a second doubt that it wasn't. It just was. Which was freaky. The only thing I could remember clearly about him was that I couldn't remember him. Oh, and that he was wearing a trenchcoat.

This opened up some interesting questions, like "what is he," or "why me," but those all had to be put aside. He assigned me the most important mission of my life. I couldn't get his words out of my head. Existence itself was at stake, and I was going to have to protect it.

I followed up on the Tartarus hostage case, making sure Kevin saw fair justice. Then I got started.

I'd been preparing in every way I could think of. I'd mastered 12 new maneuvers designed around my unique skill set— 6 aerial, 4 defensive, 3 offensive and 1 half-feint, half-distraction. I'd given myself a refresher on as many supervillains in the database as I could, gained about half a pound in muscle, and studied as many odds and ends as I could that might prove practical, from advanced chemical reactions to knot-tying. Any possible skill or knowledge I might've need, and I'd thought of, I'd at least become competent in.

One might ask, "How were you able to accomplish all of this in such a short time period?"

The answer was I'd only slept twice.

A weird side effect of my indestructibility is that I have absolutely no sense of touch. Any sensation you can think of, I can't feel. There are some obvious downsides to having this happen to me halfway through puberty, but it is what it is. A convenient result of this is I don't feel exhaustion. I still get tired— I just don't feel it. I have to make sure I get sleep every once in a while, in order to stop my brain from suddenly failing on me, which means passing out (and I am infamously hard to wake up). However, if, say, I was given the task of stopping the end of everything, I could take a couple caffeine pills and pull some all-nighters a lot easier than the average superguy.

Originally, I'd thought it'd be a couple of days before the man in the trenchcoat returned to give me whatever my first job would be. Like I said, it'd been a week. I'd blacked out twice, and the others were clearly worried, but they wouldn't say anything. Except S.A.M., blunt as ever. He called me out on my bullshit. Having all the others take my hero shifts, not telling them what the hell I was preparing for— it's no wonder it went where it did.

"So now 'Super I' is too good for the rest of us, is he?" I didn't say anything. Nobody did. He stormed off, and I heard on the news while practicing a jab-takeoff move that he pulped a small army of superpowered extremists that night.

I hated it. The others pretended nothing happened, but I could feel their sideways glances. Something about the way they stopped talking when I entered a room and continued when I left had me feeling way off. I mean, we're the Abnormals! We've had each other's backs since we were 15! But the man in the trenchcoat said I had to do this alone, and with what was at stake, I couldn't risk jeopardizing the whole thing just to tell them what was going on, no matter how much I wanted to.

If I'm being honest, the pressure was killing me. That morning I felt so overwhelmed I puked up the night before's dinner. That hadn't happened since I was 12. No matter the stakes, no matter how powerful the bad guy, I'd always had my friends to rely on. Then, when the stakes were higher than ever, I was utterly alone. So, I reverted back to some old habits.

I pulled on some pants, stepped out of the Citadel and into the air. Once I was out of reach of the insects, the air was clear and fresh. I looked back at the Citadel, that gray monolith perched atop snow-white cliffs, and let out a deep breath. The lake below was a bright blue, and on either side of the valley, deep, green pine trees rolled back for miles. The sun had barely risen, a deep orange dominating the horizon. Summertime there was wonderful.

About 600 m up in the air, I crossed my legs, closed my eyes, and cut myself off from the world around me.

Generally speaking, I'm pretty good at that. I don't have a sense of touch. Once my eyes are closed, there's nothing to see. The only distractions left are loud noises and nasty smells, which weren't found in the sky that particular day.

I took time to analyze each thought in my head, absolutely objectively, looking at my feelings without feeling. With efficiency that only years of practice creates, I quickly found the source of my anxiety.

I was scared that I wasn't good enough. I was unsettled by the man in the trenchcoat. I wanted my friends' help. I was tired. I was angry that the man still hadn't returned. I was frustrated that I was out there, preparing for some mission that I didn't have any time frame on but 'later,' while people around the world were beat and murdered without anyone to help them.

All these boiled down to my deepest, most prominent emotion: I was worried. For everyone. I didn't know if I was strong enough to help them.

"Now you're ready," the man in the trenchcoat said.

I _don't_ flinch. I _did_ nearly shit myself.

"Jeez!" I cried. "What the hell, man?"

"It took you long enough to come to that little revelation," he sighed, absolutely ignoring my question. "I was worried it wouldn't happen in time."

"In time for what?" I asked, still pretty miffed.

"For you to question me."

"Question you?"

"Like that."

"Wait, what?"

"Question me. Like you're doing now. Asking me questions."

"And you'll answer every one?"

"As many as we have time for."

I paused. Talking to him was exhausting. My line of work meant I met a lot of geniuses. Talking to him was like talking to them: you always felt 5 minutes behind the conversation you were a part of.

"What are you?" I started. A simple question, to test the waters.

"Me."

 _Guhhhhhhhhh._

"Could you expand on that?" I said, politely as I could.

"No."

"Alright, then," I said through a gritted smile. "Why weren't my friends allowed to help me?"

"Oh, they were."

"What?"

"You could have gone to them at any time." He smiled, bemusedly. "You just aren't allowed to bring them with you to the other dimensions."

"Fuck," I said, quite aptly, to the god in front of me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'll tell you later," he reassured.

This was just a nightmare.

"Well… can I go to them now?"

He glanced at his watch-less wrist. "Sorry, but there simply isn't the time."  
I turned and muttered some choice words to myself. I was sure he could hear, but it felt politer than kicking something.

After gathering myself, I thought for a second. This wasn't my first experience with cryptic keepers of knowledge. It was only a matter of asking the right questions.

"What can you do?" I said, measuredly.

"Well, anything, really," he answered, almost like he was remembering. "Basically, I'm above the laws of existence for every dimension in existence. However, my interference has some cosmic consequences from some very similar beings with goals opposing mine. That being said, I can generally get away with talking to people without them noticing."

"What are your goals?" I asked, genuinely interested now. It was beginning to feel like a real conversation.

"Consider me a bit of an environmentalist, on a very large scale. I try to preserve universes until their natural dates of death. And, of course, keep out invasive species."

"Where were you when the Wraiths invaded, then?" I asked. "They weren't from this dimension. Where were you?"

"Minor intruders," he explained distractedly. He was looking up, squinting at something behind me. I followed his gaze, but it just lead to more empty sky. "I mean, they brought their own defeat with them. The problem worked itself out."

"They enslaved Earth for decades!" I snapped back. "They obliterated any and all record of my world's culture! They killed us by the _million_!"

My anger seemed to bring him back into focus. "Sorry," he said, somewhere between genuineness and indifference.

I thought about going on, but that guy clearly didn't care that bad. The most devastating event in our history and he shrugged it off. _It's one planet_ , I told myself. _He probably had more important things to do_.

Putting years of my ancestors' suffering aside, there was the most pressing question.

"What do I need to do?" I asked.

"Looks like we're done, then," he concluded. "Into the portal."

It took me a second to catch up. All of a sudden, there was a tug from behind me.

"Wha— wait, what?"

"Into the portal."

"My question?"

"Into the portal."

"Answer my question."

Suddenly, there was a hint of anger in his eyes.

"There's no time."

I began to brace myself. I put absolute focus into making sure every cell in my body didn't move. My body strengthened, my whole being held together by my force of will, unyielding. With a mental command, the Imaskis sprang into action, forming my costume around me. I wasn't not leaving yet.

"Into the portal."

"Answer my question."

I am the second most powerful superhuman on the planet. When bracing like this, I've stood my ground against earthshattering forces, from nuclear missiles to the heat of the sun itself. I was bracing myself then. I felt immovable.

Without him lifting a finger, I was thrown back like I was just a man. A man being hit by a bus.

As I entered the portal, I suddenly felt very sick. It was like every molecule in the galaxy was desperately trying to pull me back. Something felt very, very wrong about it. Something truly, fundamentally, unnatural. The world flashed blue, my eyes felt like they were going to pop, my heart was pounding like a drum, when suddenly, I was in the air, flying through the world's shittiest alley.

The second lasted forever. I don't get thrown around a lot, so moments like those stick with me. It was a thin alley, with bricks a grimy brown on one side, and gray on the other. The kind of filthy ancientness you only see in those cherished history books. The buildings stretched far towards the sky, and in the distance, I saw a horizon filled with skyscrapers. Even in the dead of night, over the wind of my being knocked back, I could hear the drill of construction somewhere in the distance. _Huh,_ I thought.

Then I slammed into somebody.

We both tumbled to the ground, completely caught off guard. I don't think either of us expected to be knocked over in that moment.

As I scraped across the concrete in an almost out-of-body experience, he rolled gracefully and ended up on his feet. I, equally gracefully, went headlong into a couple trash bags that were sitting on the far side of the alley. I was lying there, spread-eagle in the garbage, when I get my first good look at him.

Turns out, I wasn't the only guy who showed up to the party in tights— although his definitely seemed more armor-like than mine. They covered him neck to toe, a solid black with sky-blue highlight. His forearms were reinforced with whatever material the body armor was, except doubly thick and the same light blue that filled the thin lines running up and down the suit. A V shape stretched from shoulder to shoulder across his chest. The guy was about my height, maybe a little taller, and more lean and athletic-looking. He had tussled black hair, fairly long and disheveled, but in a cool way. A black domino mask with white lenses obscured most of his face. In each hand, he held a pair of blue, lightweight-looking metal sticks, which I spectacularly deduced were for hitting people with.

"Who the hell are you?" he said, eyeing me up and down.

Then a bowler cap got stuffed onto his head from behind.

It was a weird day.

He collapsed on the ground, apparently unconscious.

I couldn't help but laugh a little. The guy who put the hat on him was the most ridiculous-looking person I'd ever seen, and I'd fought The Elongator on more than one occasion. He wore a hideous green coat with tails (swallow coats, I think they're called?), with a mustard yellow dress shirt underneath and a huge, goofy, orange polka-dot tie on. Barely larger than 5 feet, he had a huge nose, absurdly large buck teeth and a crazed look in his eyes. Most odd was his hat. It was a top hat, more than twice as tall as his head, the same green colour of his coat. Tucked into the brim of his hat was a card labelled _10/6_. He looked pretty scuffed up, like he was just in a fight. Which he must've been. With the guy on the floor, who I just helped him take out.

"Your hair wants cutting," he said, a weirdness to his voice.

"I'm fine with it this length, I think," I responded, apprehensiveness creeping in. "What did you do to him?" I gestured to the masked man, with the bowler hat stuffed almost down to his eyes, collapsed on the ground.

He followed my gaze, slowly, to the unconscious guy face down on the filthy alley street. He studied him up and down.

"The Dormouse is asleep again," he finally declared.

Somehow, I was starting to doubt that I knocked down the bad guy.

"His name is Dormouse?"

The weird man didn't acknowledge I said anything. Instead, he pulled out a strange looking device from his jacket and started fiddling with it.

" _Twinkle, twinkle_ …" he sang absentmindedly.

I rolled "Dormouse" over and tried to pull the hat off, but it wouldn't budge. I was checking for breathing when the hat-man spoke again.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

I didn't take my eyes off the rising and falling of the masked man's chest. He was breathing, but it was… off.

"I'm not sure I know that one," I answered.

"Exactly," he hissed, a sudden malice in his voice.

Uh oh.

Before I could focus my indestructibility, the masked man's eyes flew open, and he kicked me off of him. I couldn't feel it, but the speed and force of the blow caught me off guard, and I was thrown over him. Before I'd even touched the ground, he was on me.

Everything happened blisteringly fast.

I didn't even see him leave the ground. He tried to end it quickly, throwing his stick into my skull at a brutal speed. Luckily, he didn't count on me being literally indestructible, so it had little to no effect. Ricocheting off my face, it bounced once off the floor and back into his waiting hand.

Without a second of hesitation after his failed first attack, he threw a roundhouse kick. I threw up my arms in response, ready to let him break his own foot on my invincible self. At the last second, his foot went straight over me, in the most perfectly executed jump feint I'd ever had the honor to be a part of. He landed on one hand, flipped off of it, then landed on his feet, arms outstretched like a tumbler after finishing a set.

Ignoring the situation, I'd give "Dormouse" points for radness.

However, he hadn't accounted for my biggest advantage— gravity. Or immunity to, I guess. I tried taking off fast.

Just as fast, I was tugged back by the neck. My feet flying ahead of me, I twisted to see a throwing star pinning my cape to the street. Through concrete. His acrobatics were a distraction to pin me down. _This guy knows what he's doing,_ I thought.

He took advantage of my moment of disbelief and shot a grappling hook he seemingly produced from nowhere that wrapped around my good arm. Before I could pull back, he'd shot the other end deep into the brick wall above, which reeled in, pinning my arm at an awkward angle. In less than 30 seconds, he'd stuck me to the alley by my neck _and_ my arm.

The weird hatter danced in the corner, wicked with glee.

 _The hat! That must be it!_ I mean, call me crazy, but could the hat guy be using the bowler hat to make the masked one fight me? Although it seems ridiculous now, hat-mind-control wasn't the greatest leap in logic I'd make that month. Because before the bowler, the masked guy seemed (relatively) chill, and it knocked him out when it got put on. Unfortunately, it wouldn't come off when I tried. But, the weirdo in the hat used his little gizmo to wake the masked guy up, didn't he? So I just had to get his controlling device.

Easier said than done. The masked man had put his grappling hook back into wherever it was hidden, and was crouched, waiting for me to make my next move. Behind his lenses, I could feel his eyes analyzing me. Behind him, the hatter stalked around us, attention flicking between the two of us.

This guy was quick. I had to be quicker.

As fast as I could, I turned, reached back, and tore out the blade pinning my cape to the ground. I spun back a second too late— just in time to see him drop a couple capsules in my face as he leapt past me. They exploded into a thick, green gas, clouding my vision.

What didn't this guy have?

He hoped to surprise me, startle me into taking a breath, sucking up whatever that stuff is. But I don't flinch. Instead, no longer pinned to the bottom of the alley, I flew up, then landed hard, the gas dissipating at the force of my stomp. He timed his next assault with my landing. Sprinting in, he easily ducked under my left fist when I swung it towards him. He stayed close this time as I desperately tried to land something, anything on him. With my right arm on a leash, though, it was hopeless. He rolled under and over and around my swings and kicks, easily, fluidly. And I'm not an amateur, either. He was just that good.

It was like he was testing me. Frustrated, I yanked as hard as I could at the cable attaching me to the wall. No dice.

Once again, he used my distraction to his advantage. With a full flip of force put into it, he hurled something with such speed that I barely had time to blink, much less dodge it— or even see what "it" is, for that matter.

It exploded an inch from my face in a bright white light, the noise deafening. _Flashbang_ , thought the one part of my mind not filled with ringing. I stumbled backwards. He capitalized, dashing in and bathing me in a flurry of hits. I couldn't see them, feel them, or hear them. But as I came back to my senses, I saw where he was aiming.

Collar bone. Radial nerve. Temple. All the common pressure points. He landed each hit with perfect accuracy.

He was testing his arsenal. Looking for my limits, or any shortcomings. Analyzing my weaknesses.

So far, he'd been finding them. Flashbangs. Pins. He was not only faster and more skilled than me, but he'd been fighting smarter than me from move one.

No time.

I swung my untethered arm, but he flipped back out of range. I _would not win_ as long as my right arm remained strung to the wall. That's was a fact. He'd just dance out of reach every time, figuring out how to beat me at his leisure.

The hat-man watched us intently.

I needed to free myself. I could tank whatever he threw at me in the meantime— priority number one was releasing my arm. Then, I'd get the hat guy.

Luckily, the line had bore itself into the wall at a high point, far out of reach. It made fighting while attached more awkward, but also allowed me a respite from his onslaught.

I took to the air (for real this time), firmly placing my feet onto the wall of the alley, either side of where the hook had lodged itself in. I pulled with everything I had, but it still wouldn't budge. Whatever technology he was using was absolutely state-of-the-art.

I was about 20 feet up. Far out of reach for a normal human being. This guy, however, wasn't normal.

He bounced from wall to wall, propelling himself up. Not only up— above me. With a spin and a flourish, he leapt over me, attached something to my back, then gracefully dropped back to the ground, flawlessly taking the landing from such a high point.

As an experienced superhero, I can tell you with complete certainty that if somebody puts something on your back that goes _click_ , you should get it off ASAP. I clawed at where it should be, but he placed it perfectly out of reach, just on the small of my back.

While doing flips, 20 feet off the ground. Honestly, who made this freak of nature?

Suddenly, it activated, with a dramatic _fwoosh_. It took the device half a second to throw me back to the bottom of the alley, shattering the concrete. I couldn't see it, but it continued to push me into the floor, my arm twisted behind me, still attached to the wall. What the hell did he do, glue a jet engine to my back?

He didn't just sit around watching. As the man in the hat laughed maniacally, he whipped another little throwing star from his belt, all in one motion. This one burst into flames on impact, bathing the pit I made with my body in fire. This guy doesn't know overkill.

Luckily, he'd also given me what I needed to release myself.

Twisting, I ran my arm through whatever was pushing me to the floor. With the smell of burning metal, I finally freed my arm. A moment after that, the machine on my back ran out of juice, sputtering out.

In a swirl of flame and cape, I stood.

"Give me the device," I growled at the hat-man, thoroughly pissed.

The man thought for a second, then looked at his brainwashed minion, gesturing towards me contemptuously.

The man in the mask hesitated. He narrowed his eyes at the hatted man, almost as if trying to see through a dense fog.

Quite sportingly, I took this chance to deliver the world's most satisfying uppercut.

He was knocked off his feet, but quickly rolled back. Of course, he can take a hit, too. This had bought me only a second.

Grabbing the hatted man by the collar, I flew.

Up I went, right to the rooftop, which I threw him onto. He yelped at impact, pushing away from me, flailing.

"TAKE YOUR HAT OFF OF HIM!" I yelled, fist raised.

"MORE TEA?!" he screamed back.

What?

The masked man was back, having scaled the wall to the rooftop already. He threw another something-or-other.

I grabbed at the hat-guy, but he writhed away, and I missed. Instead, I knocked off his hat.

The thing he threw goes off— another flashbang. I did my best to take a defensive stance while blinded. Once I could finally make out my surroundings, I saw the masked man, shaking his head, too.

 _He must have looked directly at his own stunner!_ I thought. _His first mistake!_

I flew out to grab him, but he came to his senses just in time. Lithe like an acrobat, he leapt over me, and I swung around to face whatever gadget he had next.

He's wasn't heading towards me, though. He was running towards the hatted man.

Speaking of which, the hatter was now noticeably less… hatty. Said hat having been knocked off by me. I could see now why it was so large: it was filled with strange-looking wiring and technology. Now-hatless-weirdo had barely recovered from the flashbang, but he desperately threw himself towards his high-tech top hat.

The masked guy got there first and booted it off the roof, much to the weird one's dismay. He wailed at the loss of his hideous headwear.

I just sort of floated there, confused.

Pulling off the bowler, which I saw was also filled with a mess of wires and probes, the masked man tossed it aside.

"Tetch, you know you're supposed to stay on your meds," the mystery man said. The hatter ignored him, still crying. He turned back to me.

"Now what's your name?"

"Oh, so _now_ you're interested in talking over fighting?!" I spat back angrily.

"Seeing as you got me Hatter-ed, it's only fair you go first," he rebuked. He seemed much more relaxed now; everything about his body language screamed _I'm all over this._

The man in the hat, tears welling up in his eyes, crawled over to the masked guy and grabbed at his legs.

"I'm a poor man, Your Majesty," he lamented, desperate and broken.

"You're telling me," he snorted. From out of nowhere, he whipped out a pair of cuffs, clapped them onto the man's wrists, then pointed down the stairs. Dejectedly, the odd man went. Then Dormouse turned back towards me, expectantly.

"You're just letting him go?" I gawked.

"Some cops were following along. They'll pick him up when he climbs down and bring him back to Arkham. Tetch is just… confused. Now, your _name_."

"Okay, uh…" I started awkwardly. It'd barely been a minute since he finished kicking the shit out of me, but I'd already taken a liking to the guy.

"Super I." I said lamely.

"How come we've never heard of you?" he probed.

"I'm not from this dimension."

He snorted again.

"No, really!" I whined. Like a hero.

"Just… gimme a second, alright?" he groaned, suddenly very tired looking. He sat slowly, holding his head.

"What's up?" I asked cautiously.

"Mad Hatter's hats… aren't pleasant. You keep all your reasoning skills and ability, but… well, it musses up something in the motivation sector. Gives him absolute control through that damned _hat_ of his. You can see and think, but not… think. And the migraines afterwards… man…"

"Not the, uh… gizmo?" I asked, trying to articulate what I meant with my hands.

"Just an activator. The real heavy lifting is done in that hat of his."

"Cool, cool…" I mumbled absent-mindedly, letting it fade off. This was my first real look at the city. The skyline was filled with giant, dramatic skyscrapers, with spires and glass like something out of neo-gothic hell. There was construction everywhere, people shuffling around in the shadows, and the whole place reeked of cat piss. Gray seemed to be the city planner's favorite colour. Down there, in what appeared to be the beginnings of a slum, smoke poured out of every building. The only nice, slightly modern-looking thing being built behind large fences, decorated with the words _Wayne Industries Public Improvement Program._ But, quite noticeably, there was one very specific thing missing that big cities almost universally have.

"No sirens," I wondered aloud.

"Huh?"

"No police sirens. Why are there no police sirens?"

He chuckled. "In Gotham? Oh, there are police, don't worry. Tons. Just…"

He paused a moment to choose his words.

"…being a cop in this city is a bit of a daytime job."

"C'mon," I said, the edge of my lips tilting up. "One superhero can't stop all the crime in a city."

"He can."

I threw up an eyebrow. "Not you?"

"I'm just visiting. My… 'friend' is working on a bigger case, but as long as people think it's him out there, they'll think three times before committing a crime. I'm just picking up the stragglers. The Mad Hatter and such."

"Alright, Dormouse… earlier, you—"

"Did you just call me Dormouse?" he interrupted.

"Uh… yeah. Isn't that your name?" I said timidly. It definitely wasn't.

He started laughing. "You listened to anything the Hatter said? Oh, you poor, naïve thing. He speaks in quotes. From a book. The guy is loony, man!"

"Whatever," I mumbled, flushing from embarrassment under the mask. I must've looked like an absolute novice here. "What _is_ your name, then?"

"Nightwing, at your service." He bowed sarcastically, still chuckling.

"Well, that doesn't have a V in it, either!" I exclaimed.

"What? A- did you say V?" he asked, cocking his head. "Where'd you get that from?"

"There's a giant V on your chest. In blue."

"That's a bird."

"What?"

"It's a bird, see? Those are its wings. And look, there's it's little head and beak."

"Ohhhhhh. Wow, I totally missed that."

He shrugged. "Happens," he grinned.

I looked out towards the city, shaking off the last embers still on me. "So your dimension has superheroes too?" I mean, obviously, him. But more than one.

"Every one I've been to, at least," he said casually.

I spun around, taken aback.

"You travel dimensions?"

"I mean, not often," he explained, a little surprised by my reaction.

"Was there a guy with a trenchcoat? Who never answered anything directly?"

"Uh… no. Could you describe what he looked like beyond 'with a trenchcoat?'"

I laughed, just a little hysterically. When he gave me a weird look, I recomposed and shook my head. When I stayed quiet, he continued.

"Look. I've seen a whole lot of crazy, unbelievable things. Every second week it feels like I'm meeting something that shouldn't exist. Hell, my memoire is gonna be put in the 'fiction' section of the library."

He smiled to himself.

"Adult fiction, of course. Anyways, you just sorta learn to roll with the punches after a while. You have to when you're in this line of business."

I nodded. Even being the immovable object, you have to learn to be flexible. Then, I remembered the thought I had before this whole tangent.

"Earlier, you said 'we.' That 'we've never heard of you.' Who's 'we?'"

He took about half a minute to answer, looking me in the face. Although every bone in my body urged me to fidget, I stayed still. He was analyzing me again. Something told me flinching wasn't the thing to do under his gaze.

"Before I answer that, I have a couple more questions," he started slowly.

"Sure," I replied. I could do questions.

"So, your world has superheroes too?"

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"Far as I can remember, there are about 4 000 active heroes. And that's not even including the humans. Of course, power levels vary—"

"Wait, go back. You're not human?"

"Well, duh. I'm a superhuman. You are?"

"Well… yeah," he finished.

We both took a second to take in what we'd just heard. I had totally thought he had super-agility or something, but he was just a guy. Not that it was impossible, just… improbable.

I spoke first. "Have you ever heard of the Wraiths?"

"Like, from mythology?"

Clearly, he hadn't. The Wraiths were the most important event in history (notably, because they destroyed almost all of it). Not mythology. Real.

And of course, if they never had the Wraiths, they never had Herofix. And if they never had Herofix, they never had superhumans. Or the Superhuman-Human War. Or the Antiearth. Or any of it…

Nightwing continued, undeterred by my silence. "So, is everybody like you?"

"No. I'm actually pretty unique." I paused to articulate. "Superhuman powers differ drastically. Finding two people with the same power is like finding two identical snowflakes, although there's evidence to support powers being somewhat hereditary. Generally speaking, abilities range somewhere in the middle, in terms of strength, or utility, or however you want to say it. The rarest are those closest to humans, and those like me. Like a bell curve."

He squinted, as if straining, as he remembered our scuffle. He rubbed his temples.

"But you're from Earth, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you, uh… you're invincible?"

"Yup."

"And can fly."

"Yup."

"But you don't have any kind of super strength?"

"Uh… yeah." Most people just assume I do.

"And your invulnerability is based on your focus? And you're weak to grabs, pins, gases and attacks to your senses? And you can't feel pai—"

"How do you know that?" I interrupted.

"Sorry… my 'friend' has drilled thinking tactically into my skull. I do it even when I don't want to, now." He frowned. "Tough to say who's brainwashed me more, Tetch or him."

"Your friend brainwashed you?"

"Not literally."

"Doesn't sound like much of a friend."

Nightwing chuckled. "I guess 'boss' would be more accurate."

He looked off, distracted for the first time this whole conversation. During the respite, I realized just how intense his stare is. You don't notice it when talking because of how disarmingly cool he is.

"Well, we're on a time limit here, so we don't really have time for the mechanics of your whole society," Nightwing continued. "I do need to know the broad strokes, though, and more importantly, why _you're_ here."

So, I told him. It took about half an hour to give a summary of my entire universe. I told him about the major events of my universe's history, about the superhumans, the Abnormals, myself and my intentions (leaving out specific details about my alter ego, of course) and the man in the trenchcoat, as best I could without him actually being there.

Nightwing soaked in every detail, asking sparingly short questions of clarification, hardly interrupting. At the end, he stood, seemingly recovered from his headaches, and began pacing back and forth.

"You ever heard of Arkham?" he asked thoughtfully.

"No." I answered. Of course not.

"We could… no, you don't seem insane…" he trailed off.

I get it. Guy comes claiming to be from another dimension. With a story like mine, of course you'd call into question my sanity.

 _Still, my abilities should be proof enough,_ I thought. _I mean, how many other flying, indestructible, cape-wearing crime-fighters could he have met?_

Finally, he made up his mind. "Against my better judgement…" he sighed. "I don't think I'm qualified to handle this. I'm taking you to see Batman."

I couldn't help but let out a giggle, which I did my best to turn into a cough. "Ah, yes… Bat-man. After fighting the Mad Hatter, let's go see the Bat-man."

"Your name isn't too slick off the tongue either, 'Super I.'" He tossed me a capsule and pulled out one identical. "Crack that open and breathe deep," he said, cracking open his.

I complied. It didn't have a taste, but I could definitely feel myself sucking in something that wasn't air. "What is it?" I asked.

When I looked up, I saw that, although he'd cracked his capsule open, he hadn't breathed in an ounce. He held his far away from his face.

"Mostly compact halothane vapor, with a healthy dose of hyper-aggressive, melatonin-activating steroids, among other things," he said, through a half grin. "More commonly known as knockout gas."

I stumbled, then dropped off the roof, unconscious.


End file.
